


The definition of good.

by youngjusticewriter



Series: How to save a life. [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dobby, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Child Abuse, Gen, Grimmauld Place, Horcruxes, House elf appreciation fic basically, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Obscurus, Slavery, The Marauder's Map, there will probably be Dumbledore bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjusticewriter/pseuds/youngjusticewriter
Summary: After Chamber of Secrets Harry gives Dobby a place to stay. Everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distantly saw Lucius' hand twitch as though he desired to reach for his wand. Instead of giving into the longing Malfoy whipped around to face his house-elf.

"We're going Dobby!" He ordered the house elf who had still been twisting his ears as punishment for giving Harry a hint. His tone was harsh, not in anger at Dobby but rather because the frustration he must have felt from Dumbledore's words. Despite knowing that Harry knew Lucius would have no problem dealing out torment unto Dobby in place of Dumbledore. Harry watched the scene play out with dark eyes and a twisting feeling in his stomach. Despite everything (and that everything was a long and miserable list) that had gone wrong because of Dobby's attempts to protect Harry something in Harry broke - no, rather it had snapped at the sight of Lucius just kicking Dobby through the door, at Dumbledore not saying a word against the violence. But who was he to judge Dumbledore - Harry wasn't saying a word either now was he? His fingers curled into his left palm, digging painfully into the gritty skin. While Dumbledore and Harry could no longer see the abuse of the house elf they could hear the pained squealing. It was like a pig's but far worse to endure helplessly (expect Harry wasn't helpless he had killed a basilisk against all odds through the help of his friends perhaps that was what Dobby needed - the help of a friend) as Harry listened to the sound of body being thrown into stone from another kick that would be brutal for Dobby's small and thin body. 

Harry stood for a moment thinking hard. Then it came to him-

"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly Harry," Dumbledore agreed, his calm eyes were looking into Harry's. "But hurry. The feast, remember...."

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office with the speed Quidditch seekers were renowned for. Quickly, despite the fact Harry was wondering if his hurried thought-out plan would work, Harry took off one of his shoes and pulled off his slimy, filthy, and reeking sock before he stuffed it onto the damaged diary. After that he continued running after the pair. 

He caught up to them at the top of the stairs of the dark corridor.

"Mr.Malfoy," Harry gasped out as he skidded to a halt. "I've got something for you-" and he forced the diary into Lucius' hand before taking in some deep breaths. 

"What the-?" Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary and carelessly threw it aside. Satisfaction filled Harry's thin chest despite not knowing if this would actually work. Harry, unlike Dudley, had never been taken to church on Sunday. Perhaps if he had Harry might have prayed to God - or anyone out there - for this to work. Draco's father furiously glared at the book and Harry. It was indeed a good thing that the Malfoy before Harry was not a basilisk and looks could not kill otherwise Harry would be quite dead.

"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," the man vouched softly. "They were meddlesome fools too."

He turned to go. "Come, Dobby. I said, come." But Dobby didn't come as ordered. He was holding Harry's disgusting, slimy, and utterly horrid smelling sock. Dobby was looking upon it like man in the desert would look at a lake of water: as though he stumbled on a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said Dobby in wonder, his normally large eyes were wide in surprise on the freedom befallen onto him. "Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" Mr. Malfoy spat out despite having perfectly good ears. 

"Got a sock," Dobby murmured in shock, more to himself than the wizards before him. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby- Dobby is free!"

Lucius Malfoy stood there frozen, staring at the elf. Then with no warning before he lunged at Harry.

"You lost me my servant boy!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!" And with a loud bang Dobby had once again saved Harry. Mr. Malfoy was thrown back and he crashed down the stairs, three at a time, before landing into a crumbled heap below them. That, unlike Dobby's painful squealing, was satisfying to Harry. 

Lucius got up, his pale face livid, and with flair the older wizard pulled out his wand only to freeze as his former house elf raised a long threatening finger towards him. As stupid as the sudden thought was part of Harry expected Dobby to wag it at Lucius. 

"You shall go now," Dobby ordered his former master. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius, with no choice, glared at them one last time before he swung his cloak around him and practicality ran from their sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" Exclaimed the freed elf shrilly. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby." Harry said, grinning. "Just promise to never save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've got two questions though Dobby. You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well-"

"It was a clue sir," Dobby admitted as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named."

Before Harry could respond with a meekly right Dobby spoke once again. "What is the second question?"

"Do you got a place to go?" Harry had to ask even if he did want to go to the feast that Dumbledore mentioned and check if his friend, Hermione, was indeed awake. "You know since you've been freed?"

Dobby threw his boney arms around Harry's middle, which was as far as the elf could reach, and hugged the young wizard tightly. 

"Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" The freeded elf cried out before sobbing.

Before Harry could react to his question not being answered there was a final loud crack and Dobby disappeared leaving Harry alone in that dark corridor. Harry just stood there for a minute or perhaps two before, despite his confusion, heading off to the banquet with not a single clue on how much would change from just one innocent question. A single act of kindness could be like that after all but Harry didn't know such things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpise! I made another fic dealing with obscurus. There are two reasons why: 
> 
> 1.) Harry you freed a house-elf and I know you're a just a kid but a house-elf is a slave. Why didn't you ask if he had a place to go? 
> 
> 2.) The reason JKR gave us on why Harry isn't an obscures isn't...well completely true I guess is the way to put it. 
> 
> JKR told us the only reason why Harry isn't an obscurus is because the Dursleys never acknowledged his magic whilst being abusive towards Harry. Yet (if I remember correctly) Aunt Petunia almost hit Harry with a bloody frying pan because Harry was joking about using magic on Dudley in CoS and Vernon choked Harry in OotP because he thought Harry had used magic when it was just Mundungus apparating. So does that reason truely work?
> 
> Also, damn auto-correct to hell.
> 
> Edit: This chapter was originally posted 8/28/2017. It's been rewritten on 8/14/2018.


	2. Chapter 2

Dobby is a good house elf except he isn't. A good house elf that is. For a good house elf are enslaved and happily so and Dobby isn't either of this things. 

He is no longer treated like vermin by his family, the Malfoys that are no longer his family, and he is bad house elf to happily be free of them. He has a new and kind master though the good and kind (too kind, Dobby the bad elf thought but never admitted outloud for a elf is to follow their master's words never have opinions nor questions and Dobby, the bad elf he is, does have these things) Harry Potter refuses to be referred to as Dobby's master. 

Dobby had thought it was because Harry was raised by muggles instead of wizards so he hadn't been raised in their wizarding ways. Now, Dobby grimly understands and Dobby is not pleased at this revelation. The house elf was not pleased the least bit at his savior's relatives treatment of the too good and kind Harry Potter. Dobby was... ill at ease (Yes! That was the word.) as well. 

(Harry, being the kind wizard he was, had allowed Dobby to borrow the neglected books on the bookshelf along with Harry's clothes if the house elf gave his word to never been seen or heard by the Dursleys. One of the books was a dictionary and oh did Dobby love to educate himself to better as much as he loved wearing mix matched socks.) 

Dobby knew of obscurus despite the wizarding world's shame of them. The only reason why Dobby knew so was because his former master had been interested in the subject. Or, rather Dobby realized, the power of such a parasitical creature those poor abused wizards and witches had become. It was sad fate for there was no cure for obscurus; no cure for Dobby's Harry if such a fate befell the young wizard. 

No, Dobby thought strongly and perhaps even fiercely. Such a terrible fate would not befell the good and kind Harry Potter who had improved the lives of house elves after defeating He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. 

'Tis part of the house elf's enslavement was keeping the secrets, scandals, and silence for their masters but Dobby was no longer Lucius' house elf. He was Harry Potter's and happily so! He would inform his Harry what might befall him before freeing the young wizard from his relatives that were just as monstrous as the Malfoys. Then Dobby would be a good house elf once again. 

Unfortunately that plan didn't happen with the arrival of Aunt Marge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic might become longer then intended...


	3. Chapter 3

"As I expected!" Aunt Marge declared before taking a swig of her brandy. 

Harry's nails dug into the wood of his chair. He tried to recall what book he'd chosen to help Dobby read next once they were finished with The Golden Compass as he watched Aunt Marge wipe her chin with her sleeve which made Aunt Petunia wince in distaste at Aunt Marge's bad manners. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who –"

"He was not," Harry interrupted quietly, his body shaking in anger. Never before had he been this angry. Not when the Dursleys had punished him for having a better grade than Dudley back when they went to school together. Not when Snape belittled him in class or rather every class. Not when Lockhart annoyed him by thinking he knew Harry or when Harry and Ron had found Lockhart packing up, ready to abandon Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets despite all his bragging. Even when he head learnt the meaning of mudblood Harry had not been this angry.

The table went very quiet and Harry couldn't find it in him to give a bloody damn about the Hogwarts' slip to Hogsmead despite how much he had wanted to go before. Now it didn't matter to him. 

His nails pressed deeper into the unyielding wood. 

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone as white as ghost. 

He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on –"

"No, Vernon," hiccoughed Aunt Marge, holding up a fat hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's who stared back at her unblinking. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash. Drunk, I expect-" 

"They didn't die in a car crash!" Harry yelled, finally snapping from having to deal with Aunt Marge for a week. (Honestly, it was a miracle he only snapped now.) Harry was now on his feet, the table and his knees made a sound from the sudden impact (or rather from having Harry accidentally slam into) of Harry's departure from his chair. 

"They died in a car crash," Aunt Marge yelled back before giving Harry a smile that was all teeth and mockery. "you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury.

"You are an insolent, ungrateful little –"  
Aunt Marge had suddenly stopped yelling at him. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger – but the swelling didn't stop. Harry froze. Oh no. The shattered glass of wine had been missed but this? There was no way the Ministry of Magic would let this go considering what happened last year (never mind it had been the house elf that Harry currently hid in his room then Harry himself). 

Not getting the Hogsmead slip was one thing but not going back to Hogwarts was another thing entirely. 

That is, Harry realized morbidly as he watched Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia yelled 'Marge' in unison, if the Dursleys didn't actually murder him for accidentally turning Vernon's sister into a balloon because she had pissed him off. 

There was more than a good chance they would, Harry realized before he wisely tore from the dining room as Ripper came skidding in. The dog was too distressed at the sight of his owner starting to float away to pay attention (or to be more accurate: to bite) Harry. 

"Dobby!" Harry screamed out as the cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk next to the front door. His heart pounded. Despite his fear for his future Harry couldn't help but smile because he was getting away from the Dursleys. This was his sock and Harry wasn't going to waste it. 

He sprinted upstairs where Dobby greeted him with wide eyes. Harry threw himself under the bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents.

"Come on, Dobby," Harry panted as he crawled out from under his bed before he went to grab Hedwig's empty bird cage with his free hand. "We're leaving," he told the elf before pausing to shove The Golden Compass under his armpit before grabbing the bird cage. 

Harry dashed downstairs, Dobby loyally following him without a question, just  
as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters from Ripper if Harry had to guess. 

"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIG-" Uncle Vernon stopped as he noticed Dobby. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?!" Harry's uncle roared as blood from his injury started dripping onto the carpet. 

"WHAT'S IT DOING IN MY HOUSE BOY!?" 

Fear coiled in Harry like a snake; he wasn't afraid of his uncle because he's used to Vernon's anger but Dobby whose seething with anger that Harry could almost taste. 

Dobby who was staring at Vernon like he wants to hurt the whale of the man. Dobby who probably heard the whole yelling match between him and Aunt Marge that Harry's guardians never stopped. Dobby who only has Harry, whom he cared (even before Harry took him in, allowed him to wear any of Harry's socks, and taught Dobby to read) to the point he protected Harry from Lucius, despite less than minute ago he'd been a slave to that terrible man, instead of being afraid. Dobby who performed several spells that wizards would find difficult so he could get Harry from Hogwarts. Dobby who could apparate out of Hogwarts despite no wizard being capable of doing so.

Oh. Well. Those were all good reasons on why the hair on the back of Harry's neck was currently standing up. 

"Dobby, please let's go," Harry begs because he's in enough trouble as it is without Dobby murdering his uncle (which he wants to do if the house elf's glare was anything to go by). 

Dobby, without so much as a word, reaches out and wrapped his fingers around Harry's wrist without taking his eyes off Vernon. Dobby didn't even try to disguise how much anger he felt on Harry's behalf as the hallway of the Dursleys' house disappears from Harry's view. It's too late for Harry to wonder where Dobby is taking them as everything turns black in Harry's vision. 

His ear drums were being pushed deeper into his skull. Harry was being pressed in all directions and he couldn't breathe. It felt as though iron bands were tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head.

Then Harry promptly tripped with a thud. The pain of falling flat on his face and breathing in dust is a welcome compared to what he just endured. Next time, Harry thinks as a woman screams her head off about intruders and mudbloods, he was going to fly on his broom to London. Never mind his stuff and Dobby might not have fit on the broom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think everyone can guess where Dobby took Harry. I purposely went back and added that the woman was screaming about mudbloods instead of just screaming. 
> 
> Okay about Harry digging his nails in the bottom of this chair it's a thing I do when I'm in a conversation and I'm uncomfortable or angry. (That or fiddle with a hairband since I almost always have on me.) I don't know if anybody else has that habit but I thought it might be something realistic to add.


	4. Chapter 4

After a minute at failing to speak because he couldn't really breathe (dust was all that Voldemort needed to properly murder Harry, screw the killing curse), Harry finally managed to speak a sentence without having to cough.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, his voice a bit ruff sounding, as he got up from the carpet that he inhaled the dust from along with painfully face planting in. Thankfully and somehow miraculously his glasses hadn't broke. They were smudged however.

Harry, without so much as thought, let go of his hold of his suitcase and Hedwig's bird cage. Both landed with a thud which caused the woman to only scream louder about mudblooded intruders but she'd yet to barge into the - well Harry didn't know what the dark and dusty room was for.

Harry with his recently freed hand, that's shoulder still had a book in his armpit, grabbed the hem of the oversized (no shocker than since it was once his cousin's) shirt and begun attempt to clean his glasses so the room wasn't a big dark blur that Harry kept squinting at as he cleaned his glasses. Eventually, Harry put them back on only to close his eyes in frustration and let out a groan. His shirt apparently had not been spared from the dust.

Harry was tired. His body seemed to weigh down on him even without carrying the birdcage and suitcase; more than it should considering Harry was scrawny and small for his age. And last but far worst than the previous two, he'd broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry of Magic hadn't sent a letter (like before) to Privet Drive while he'd been grabbing his stuff and yelling for Dobby.

Perhaps, the letter or even a representative of the Ministry was there now. Inquiring to his relatives as for his whereabouts so he or she could snap Harry's wand like they had Hagrid's. Well except Hagrid hadn't been guilty. Harry was. Though admittedly he hadn't meant to blow his aunt it's just -

The very thought of the horrid things she uttered with her big and ugly smile that was all teeth and mockery. Her fat lips, a rather dark shade of red lipstick that was unpleasant against her face, wet from the alcohol she drank like Harry would water after a day weeding Aunt Petunia's garden. Though to be fair on the lipstick that was just a victim, anything would look ugly on the Uncle Vernon sister's face afterall she was Uncle Vernon sister.

Harry came back to reality and the shrill screams of a witch as Dobby tugged on his wrist to get his attention.

"Would Harry like to find a place to sleep?" Dobby asked him gently. Harry blinked. It was weird how that Dobby looked ready to murder his uncle (so much Harry could taste it in the air or rather the magic maybe...Hermione would know what it was Harry had felt) and be treating Harry as though he was a child.

Despite it being weird, Harry was tired. "Sure," he said though if he was heard over the women's screams of mudbloods was another thing. Why hadn't she bragged in and ripped him into a new one for just teleporting into her home without so much as a heads up? Wait-

Horror filled Harry before he immediately stiffened. "We're not at the Malfoy's are we," he whispered to Dobby. It was a genuine question since he only heard Draco say that word much to the twins and Ron's anger while he and Hermione's had just be left confused.

Forget the Ministry swooping down on them - their corpses would eventually be found by the Ministry if this was-

"Dobby is a good house elf! Dobby would never bring-" there was a pause and the sound of feet - not Harry's - shuffling.

"Dobby would never bring his friend to harm's way."

Harry was bloody knackered, his energy from anger and being in danger had left him. That and Harry had never been known for holding back his tongue.

"You promised to not to try and save my life again." It wasn't a compliant. Just a reminder.

Dobby had taken him away from Uncle Vernon who would've murdered Harry for not knowing how to fix Aunt Marge even if he had wanted to. Dobby cared. He'd always cared even before they were secretly roommates. Why was still beyond Harry.

Dobby instead of giving an answer led Harry out of the room. The bird cage and suit case still dumped on the floor and left there as they exited the room. The hallway was dark too. Perhaps it was because it was night time and there were no lights on. Or rather candles burning since this was a witch's house.

Yet, Harry couldn't help but think, there had been dust as they slowly but surely climbed the steps. The witch by now had stopped screaming off the top of her lungs. Harry appreciated it just like he'd appreciate being done climbing the stairs of whenever they were.

It turnt out that was one more minute. They reached topmost landing where- Harry squinted his eyes even though it was dark and his glasses were dirty. It looked like two doors but he wasn't sure and perfectly honest he didn't care. His feet ached, his body weighed down on him, and there was not much energy left in him. At this point he didn't care he was going to have to sleep in oversized dirty shirt and jeans that only fit because of a belt. He had no clothes besides his Hogwarts robes (normally Harry would have packed some of the clothes in his trunk before he left for the train station but that didn't happen) and they'd been left in some room that were at the bottom of the stairs.

Dobby choose a door and lead him towards it. His longer fingers still wrapped around Harry's wrist as he tugged Harry forward. Thankfully Harry didn't stumble as Dobby, who had to stand on his tip toes to reach the doorknob, opened the door to what was hopefully a bedroom.

Yes it was. Harry briefly closed his eyes and mumbled a thank you to someone - anyone - out there before opening them. He and Dobby made their way to what look like the outline of a large bed.

Harry, without any grace whatsoever, fell back on the mattress with a soft thud. Despite how comfy it was without any sheets or covers, Harry got up from laying on the mattress. He reached down to pick up Dobby only for what looked like the house elf shaking his head in the dark.

"Dobby has work to do then Dobby will go to sleep," Dobby told Harry. Despite being small Dobby made his way across the dark room rather quickly before shutting the door without banding it.

Harry stared at ceiling even though he couldn't see it in dark. He was shivering, he noted. Was it because there was no sheets or covers on the bed or because of fear of his future? His future without Ron and Hermione; without attending Hogwarts. With his wand just snapped. Despite having weeded Aunt Petunia's garden every summer since he was seven Harry doubted Dumbledore would let Hagrid take Harry on as an apprentice. That was if Harry wasn't arrested or outlawed from the wizarding world because he'd used such big magic on a muggle.

His heart felt heavier than his body. His hands slid under his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. His fingers were wet but Harry didn't cry even in this empty room. Perhaps he was too tired to cry.

Eventually, Harry fell asleep. His dream ending with him jumping out of a window and breaking his neck. Funnily the most memorable thing besides the ending was his hair. It had the been the same shade as Lockhart's instead of the sweaty black haired mess that it normally was.

Eventually Harry opened his eyes only to quickly shut them again with a groan. It was morning. While not very bright there was some light just beginning to stream in the room and that light had been enough for Harry to close his eyes. Warily, he did open them again to peer at the strange room. The first thing he noticed were the faded scarlet and gold banners; Gryffindor banners. For some reason that made Harry feel easier being here - wherever here was.

The second thing he noticed was furry grey cover that'd been draped over him sometime when he'd been a sleep. Dobby's work most certainly. The next thing was the fact his glasses were off his nose.

Despite the comfort of the bed Harry slipped out of it. Though he did grab the cover and wrap it around him since it was a bit frigid in the neglected room. He was still wearing sneakers so thankfully he couldn't feel if the floor.

Harry frowned. He could have sworn he'd heard a woman screaming her head off last night but the state of the dust covered chandelier and the rest of the house made Harry doubt it. Perhaps he dreamt it along with the bears and golden hair.

Besides the banners, the walls of the room were plastered with muggle motorcycles. Most with girls in bikinis. Like that one magazine Harry had seen his cousin once sneak in the house. The reason Harry could tell they were muggle girls and posters was because they remained frozen within their pictures. Their smiles were stationary and eyes unseeing unlike wizard photos and portraits Harry had came across during the times he spent in the wizarding world.

The only wizarding photo on the room was - Harry squinted his eyes and made his way farther from the door so he could see if he was right. It was a photo of Hogwarts students, all Gryffindors, standing arm in arm as they laughed at the camera.

But that wasn't had Harry feeling as though he'd been petrified.

His heart pounding in his chest, "Dad?" Harry croaked out as he stared at the messy haired teenager that, while older, looked just like him. Except his eyes. Harry had often been told he had his mother's eyes.

Harry lifted his hand. Fingers at the edge of the photo as he tried to gently tug it of the wall to no avail. It had to been spelled on there since Harry couldn't see any tape on it. The realization made Harry frown. A desperate part of him wanted to keep having a tug of war with the photo but Harry still didn't know where he was.

Eventually Harry removed his hand from the worn photo. His eyes lingering. Hoping. Silently pleading it might just fall off so Harry could keep it with him even though it wasn't his. The thought of perhaps there was more about his father in this room was what made Harry forget all about being in this strange house and Dobby.

There was a desk in the room near the door. Hurriedly Harry made his way towards it, the cover still wrapped around him. The desk had several books stacked together and a few papers. Harry sat down the chair and it made a sound of protest. The first paper was a ripped out page of an old edition of A History of Magic. The second being a small and thin muggle motorcycle maintenance manual. The third paper was handwritten and crumpled. Gently Harry smoothed it out before bringing it close to his face so he could read it.

**_Dear Padfoot,_ **

**_Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself. I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there)._ **

His mom, Harry realized. His hands holding ever so more tight on the letter that it was miracle it didn't rip. His mom had sent this letter. A letter Harry could keep. A letter not glued to its desk unlike the photo on the wall. Harry felt a sort of joy he hadn't ever experienced before in his life. He couldn't quite get over that his mom - a women standing right behind his reflection. She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - her eyes had been just like his.

Bright green and she was crying but smiling at him and maybe he was crying too because his cheeks were wet from tears- Harry was brought back to the present as a tear fell on the aged letter. He dropped on the desk and grabbed the cover wrapped around him. Bringing it up to his eyes Harry wipped them before he went back to reading his mom's letter.

**_Of course James thought it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going. We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway!_ **

**_James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard. Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore –_ **

Harry felt quite numb and cold despite the cover wrapped around him as he finished the last of the miraculous paper that was treasured in his fingers. He leaned back on the chair and tried to breathe in the room's cold air in as all the information sunk in. Eventually he'll get up and leave the room. Find Dobby and learn where he was but that was eventually. Right now Harry could only think of how they had a cat. How he'd broken Aunt Petunia's vase. Last but not least what happened to the Sirius the letter mentioned. Maybe he could tell Harry about his parents besides Harry looking like his dad and having his mom's eyes.

If, Harry realized, he was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much action in this chapter besides setting down a foundation of angst.
> 
> Originally there was going to be Kreacher but that didn't work out. The dream Harry had was reference to Goldilocks. In the original or rather one of the earlier versions of the fairytale she's an old woman who snaps her neck escaping from a window of the house she broke into.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry could barely hear the creak of protest the old and last wooden step of the staircase gave over the argument taking place in one of the rooms on the main floor. Dobby and whoever he was arguing with were not-quite-yelling- at each other but their voices were most definitely not inside voices. Which was odd because this was Dobby and not much more than that needed to be said about the house elf and arguing. 

Harry could have stayed on the bottom of the stairs, the cover Dobby had given him last night still wrapped around him making him look quite like a walking blanket burrito, listening (or to be accurate eavesdropping - an admittedly habit of his) in on the conversation but he didn't. His mother's letter despite actually being very light in weight laid heavy in the pocket of Harry's oversized jeans where it had been gently put at. The letter and, along with the photo pretty much spelled glued on the wall, also weighed heavy on Harry's mind.

The floor unlike the staircase didn't creak under Harry's weight. As he walked away from the stairs and closer to the doors, Harry listened to the conversation, trying to figure out which room Dobby and the stranger were in. The stranger, Harry noted, did not have the same voice as the woman from last night who had screamed her head off. Perhaps he had dreamt of her like the bears and breaking his neck. The screech of her voice and her words most certainly had been the same theme of last night's dreams: unpleasantness. 

Harry grasped the cold metal doorknob and opened it. The door opened with a creak of protest. Dobby, his usually clean baby blue pillowcase and mix matched socks were covered in dirt, and another house elf eerily turned their heads towards him in unison. The other house elf was far older and wrinkly than Dobby. He wore a filthy rag tied like a loincloth around his middle but otherwise was naked. Dobby too wore something, an old pillowcase of Dudley's that Harry had given him, around his middle but he wore two different socks on his feet. One time during the summer Dobby had even sort-of wrapped a t-shirt around his head like a turban; Harry had vetoed that the moment he walked in his room and saw it. His mouth had formed a frown at the sight along with memories of Defense Against The Dark Arts professor that had hidden Voldemort behind his head because of that turban.

Dobby's look of annoyance, unlike the stranger's, disappeared the moment he creepily turned his head to the direction of the door Harry had just opened. In it's place Dobby gave Harry a smile that could replace the sun with its brightness. Harry crossed his arms under the blanket, uncomfortable in his own skin at such a smile being directed at him. Despite this he gave a weak smile in return. Somehow Dobby's smile grew. Harry had faced his parents' murderer, giant spiders that had wanted to eat Ron and him, and last but not least a huge snake that could kill him if Harry had looked it in the eyes. Because of these things and the picture in his pocket Harry didn't step back. 

"Did Harry sleep good?" Dobby inquired in a hopeful tone. Like he hadn't been in an viscous sounding argument that Harry could understand as much as he could understand Greek. 

"Yeah," Harry croaked out to Dobby but his eyes on the older elf in the dinning room with them. 

"Kreacher," Kreacher told Harry with a nasty frown on his face. 

"The son of a mud-blood whore and pure blood traitor. And a freed house elf in mistress' house," Kreacher all but wailed in misery. "Oh what would my poor mistress say if she knew?" 

Harry stared, his short nails digging into his skinny elbows, with a very dangerously thin frown. Harry didn't know what whore meant but he knew mudblood was a nasty word to refer to wizards and witchs like Hermione and his mom. Whore probably wasn't a nice word either. If the alarmed look on Dobby's face was anything to go by Harry was right. 

"Bad Kreacher!" Dobby all but yelled - actually no that was a yell - at the other house elf. "Harry's mother was not a whore," Dobby berated the other house elf. "Kreacher should not say such horrid thin-"

"Kreacher does not listen to house elf that will not proudly hang on the walls of the great Malfoy's home!" Dobby raised his hands towards face, his eyes downcast, fingers twitching as if he was wishing to yank on his ears. Rather it be punishment or distress from the argument Harry didn't know as he leaned on his toes, ready to pounce forward for Dobby. 

Also great Malfoys? Harry, for the not the first and probably not the last, didn't know what was going on. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know though. It was like he was a unwitting observer of a rather disturbing tennis match that he didn't really understand. He only understood neither house elf wanted to lose to the other. 

Dobby, who had pointedly been staring at his socks since Kreacher's words, finally spoke. "Perhaps Dobby shall hang on his friends' wall instead of his slave owners," he muttered softly, his eyes still downcast. 

Apparently that meant something to Kreacher who didn't quite stomp out (because house elves couldn't really stomp) but did try his best (a for effort, Harry would have told him if he liked the house elf) all the while muttering to himself about his mistress' wall and traitor elves. That and...threatening to blast Dobby's head off the wall himself so not to disgrace his mistress' home? 

The feeling of confusion was once again Harry's companion that he didn't want. Awkwardly, Harry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets only to realize, or rather to remember, with eyes wide in horror what was in his pocket. Hurriedly, heart pounding his chest Harry pulled out the letter to check for damage. He unfolded it before letting out a sigh of a relief. There was no damage. Harry gently folded the letter back up before putting it back in his pocket. 

Dobby despite his eyes squinting in curiosity didn't say anything. ...Dobby just waited for something from Harry. 

Harry wasn't used to silence. Often if Ron wasn't chattering Hermione would be telling them something or asking them if they ever got around to reading A Hogwarts A History and that they should since they hadn't. The memories of his friends made Harry smile softly. He missed them. Hopefully Hedwig would be able to find him soon; she always found who he wrote to so, Harry figured, she could find him too. 

"Where did you take us Dobby?" Harry finally asked before pulling out a chair and sitting on. He didn't lean back on it though instead he just pulled the cover tighter across him. 

"The great and noble house of Black," Dobby told him. The words or rather "great and noble" sounded recited. Harry raised an eyebrow and squinted at Dobby; he had yet to find where Dobby had put his glasses. 

"Why are we here?" 

Dobby, hesitant and clearly nervous, slowly looked up at Harry. "Dobby has been planning to take Harry here for sometime now once he got the signature from his not kind aunt and uncle."

The eyebrow climbed, almost reaching Harry's hair that he hadn't even tried to comb before coming down stairs. 

"Dobby," Harry's tone was flat and tired (surprisingly Harry did not get a good night sleep from dreaming of bears chasing after him, having Lockhart's hair, and then proceeding to break his neck when trying to escape the bears from a window). 

Dobby shifted his feet. "Keeping 'dirty laundry' from airing 'tis part of the house elf's enslavement but Dobby is no longer an enslaved house elf. They're called obscurus." 

"A what?" Harry asked, eyebrow no longer climbing towards his hair but knitted together with the other one in confusion. 

"An obscurus - there is no cure. Dobby wanted to be a good house elf again. Dobby did not want such a terrible fate to befall the great and kind Harry Potter," Dobby once again shifted his feet in nervousness. 

"Now Dobby doesn't want his friend to have such a fate," the house elf confessed in a small voice.

"How would I become an obscuru- one of those things?" 

"Magical children who are abused for their magic often become one." 

Harry winced, his eyebrows knit even tighter than before. "I'm not-" The word abused weighed heavy on his tongue. 

"I don't like Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or Dudley and the feeling more than mutual but I'm not-" 

Dobby stared at him. It was more than just unnerving. "Hitting sir with a frying pan isn't abuse?" 

Harry winced. He'd forgotten Dobby had been in the garden that day (his birthday). Abuse was constant. It was black eye and busted lips on wives or kids. It wasn't admittedly nice clothes that didn't fit Harry. It wasn't sleeping in a cupboard. Harry would have gladly take an orphanage before he learnt Tom Riddle - I am Lord Voldemort - had once been in one but that didn't mean he was abused. They had lied before telling him not to ask questions. They had try to keep him from Hogwarts. They didn't like him. He didn't like them either. 

That didn't mean- if the look on Dobby's face was anything to by he wouldn't believe anything Harry would try to put into a sentence much less sentences. He winced once again, his nails painfully digging into his elbows. 

Finally he spoke but not on the matter. It was on the matter before, the verbal tennis match he walked in on. 

"No Dobby. Friends don't put their friend's head on a wall. They bury their friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So did I disappoint?


	6. Chapter 6

Abused. 

The word is on repeat; it's like a carousel, something Harry has never seen in person only on the Dursleys' living room tv, in Harry's mind ever since he left the dinning room (since he left Dobby). It weighs heavy in his chest and mind. And Harry can't do this- 

It's weird and suffocating. This strange new freedom of being at Black's home that's been shoved unto Harry. He doesn't know what to do with it. As far as he can tell through his mindless wanderings of the dusty house no one but Kreacher has lived here for years. The dust and cob webs make Harry's fingers twitch; Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she ever saw her home in this state. There's a part of Harry that wants to hide the photo in-between the mattress and bed before finding the supply closet and just cleaning. Cleaning is not comfort to Harry but it's something to do besides wandering about and wondering about his future. His fears gnawing at him, demanding for Harry to panic about no longer going to Hogwarts - seeing Hermione and Ron - and no longer being a wizard once they snap his wand. Would the ministry send him back to the Dursleys? If the Dursleys would still - the word isn't want but rather...deal with him? 

And if they did what would Harry do? The idea of living with the Dursleys a full year again was something Harry couldn't deal with now that he knew what it was like to live without his aunt and uncle. He would take the orphanage or St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys over them. 

Suddenly Harry remembered one of Aunt Marge's brutally direct questions (her favorite way of asking questions) about him during her visit: "Have you been beaten often?" 

Unlike last time Harry didn't have sarcasm to respond with. Or have someone that wasn't himself he had to answer to. What was the piece of over used wisdom? You are you're worst enemy. You can lie to everyone but yourself. Something, possibly a mix of those two sentences, like that. But Harry wasn't lying! Frustration was building in his stomach. This whole inner questioning about abuse was simply stupid along with angering. The threat of unknown (of never going to Hogwarts) made it worse. 

He didn't really know why he was here at Black's home. He didn't know if this Sirius bloke was alive. And if he was where was he? Did he and Harry's father have a falling out right before Harry's parents died? The other two boys in the photo Harry could barely put faces to since he had been so focused on his dad. Where were they? Why had no one came and whisked him away from the Dursleys - why did Harry need to be whisked away from his relatives? Harry's head fell on the wall with a dull thud. The urge to-to do something was overwhelming. About to burst from Harry and he didn't know why. 

His vision was blurrier than before (which said something since Harry hadn't asked Dobby where his glasses were before waking out of the dinning room). His eyes were wet from frustration, dust and nothing else. His nails dug even deeper into his elbows as he slid towards the carpet of the room. Hunger gnawed at his stomach but Harry paid no mind to familiar sensation. He breathes. Or least Harry tries to. Despite it being summer and Harry could remember the heat of it, of how hot yesterday was, here it's cold. The cold that's frigid in the air, harsh to breathe in, and slowly but steadily seeps through Harry's too big socks. Despite this Harry feels too hot. Like he's being burn and not with the spell that make the flames tickle that Harry had read about for homework. 

Eventually, unsteadily, with the grace of a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, Harry gets up from the floor and makes his way back to the room he slept in. A room who knows how many years ago was Sirius' room. 

When he gets there everything the same and Harry doesn't know how to feel about that. He makes his way to the desk before he searches for a quill and parchment. In it's place there an ink pen and paper. For some reason Harry finds it comforting as he wipes the dust off the sheet of paper with his sleeve. 

The pen twirls in his fingers as he stares down at the paper and suddenly (or maybe not) Harry doesn't know what to say - what to write to this stranger his dad and mom once knew. He taps the top of the pen onto the letter. The blankness of the paper seems mock him as if it was homework instead of a very important letter that Harry hasn't even put a word on. He leans back on the chair, head tilted back as he vacantly stares at the dusty chandelier. 

Does it even matter? Hedwig was still at the Weasleys. Sirius was either dead or he didn't care. He would have visited or checked if he had. Except, Harry thinks or rather grasps onto the idea as if it were a lifeline, maybe the Dursleys had kept the man away since they didn't like Harry's kind. Suddenly it's a lot colder as Harry remembers his uncle's vehement yell about beating him to stamp the magic out. Harry's lip thinned dangerously. His uncle had never beaten him. Harry wasn't abused despite what Dobby thought with judging eyes. (But why would he being willing to live with a stranger he only knew through a letter than with them?) 

Harry glanced back down at the wordless letter. Slowly, Harry starts to write down a word only to stop. Without a thought, Harry bring the bottom of the pen and licks it before trying again. He has to write over the first word a few times before ink starts to properly come out. 

[\\]

There's a sharp knock on the door. Harry immediately and without so much as a thought hurriedly shoved the finished recently (as in just finished like two minutes ago) letter under the motorcycle manual. It's stupid. He's trusts Dobby. The new house elf not so much. So maybe it's not stupid. 

When Harry opens the door it's Kreacher whose behind it. Kreacher immediately stops his muttering that so softly spoken that Harry would have to strain to hear whatever the house elf was saying (and even then he wouldn't understand whatever the language was). Kreacher with a frown looked up at Harry but not at his eyes. 

"Dobby has cooked. The traitor and the mudblood not-whore-but-really-was son should eat before its cold otherwise Dobby shall impose on Kreacher's time and proceed to annoy Kreacher when Kreacher has things to do."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the speech Kreacher just gave him that basically meant: humor Dobby otherwise Dobby will annoy me if you don't and I don't want to be annoyed when I can have some alone time. 

"What is that you do?" Harry asked as they made their way to the stairs. 

From the corner his eye Harry noticed how for just a split second Kreacher tensed up before relaxing as much as Kreacher would. Kreacher, Harry had already guessed, was not an easy going and relaxed person. 

"Kreacher is trying to finish a task," was the vague answer Harry was given. 

Harry squinted his eyes; not because he was trying to see better without his glasses but because he was confused. Why had Kreacher tensed up before answering him? Why had he answered Harry? It wasn't like he had to which peaked Harry's curiosity. 

"What are you trying to do?" Harry asked even though he suspected he get blood from a stone before he got a honest answer from the house elf. 

Kreacher's long fingers curved into his dirty palms. His filthy nails digging into the flesh of his palm. Harry felt unsettled at the sight that took place in the corner of his eye. 

"Master Regulus told Kreacher not to tell poor old Mistress. He never told Kreacher not to tell a Master. Kreacher still doesn't want to tell," Kreacher muttered to himself in English thankfully but Harry was still confused. Was Mistress perhaps Sirius' wife or the Regulus Kreacher mentioned, Harry wondered as they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. Or one of their mothers? Maybe their aunt? Grandmother? 

"Wh-" Harry was interrupted by Dobby coming out of the dinning room and into the hallway. 

"Dobby has cooked for Harry," Dobby enthusiastically informed Harry. "Harry should eat while it's still warm."

At seeing the look on Harry's face Dobby asked, "Did Kreacher say cruel things about Harry and Harry's mother?" Dobby inquired. 

Harry shook his head. "No Dobby." There was a pause as Harry sorted through his thoughts. 

"What did you make?" Harry finally asked and Dobby smiled warmly before listing off a large meal with multiple courses (Where did he get the fresh food? ...Please let it be fresh. Harry wouldn't even satisfy his curiosity of where it came from if it was fresh.) that Harry could not possibly eat by himself. 

The two house elves, when Harry asked them to join him, did not share his opinion. Kreacher looked absolutely done and Dobby shook his head so violently Harry was afraid it might fall off. 

Dobby reached for Harry's hand and guided Harry to head of the table. "Harry is much too thin. Let Dobby fatten you up with good and warm food." 

Harry raised a tired eyebrow. "Why so you can eat me?" He dryly teased Dobby. 

"No sir!" Dobby screeched loudly and wow. That was rather loud. "Dobby would never eat his friend! Dobby will gladly prepare food so his friend won't be thin as a twig. Not to eat Harry. Dobby likes Harry. Dobby is honored that Harry would bury him-" Kreacher made a sound of protest at the news "- instead of forever looking over Harry's home as his head is mantle on the wall but not since Dobby will have the honor of being buried."

Harry, with blinking eyes as Dobby pushed his chair in, wondered where the idea of Dobby's head being on a wall even came from. 

It, Harry realized as he lifted a spoon to his mouth, must be a crazy wizard thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed (noticed) yet house elves in this fic are going to be slyly sarcastic.


	7. Chapter 7

   _ **The Quibbler.**_

_**SIRIUS BLACK: The Dirty Secret And An Escape Goat for the Ministry.** _

_**[A crude editorial cartoon of Sirius Black, wand drawn, standing on a pile of human bones.]** _

_**by Sophie Scholl.** _

_**Startling new evidence has come up in the case of Sirius Black who is quite known and hated for his "betrayal" of the Potters that lead to the night of Samhain where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated by the currently missing Boy Who Lived (see page two).** _

_**Doris Purkiss, a witch whose blood purity shall not be disclosed since it is no matter to this article nor should be a matter at any time mind you, has come forward as soon as she saw pictures of an admittedly haggard and mad (mad here means insane looking not angry, nor in fact insane) Sirius Black on the Daily Prophet. At first the witch tried to give her witness testimony to the Daily Prophet, the most read newspaper of the Britain Wizarding World despite Minister Fudge's chubby fingers being in their pie, but was denied. She approached Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood the editor of The Quibbler, during her school shopping at Diagon Alley. It was then that she was able to come forward without being denied from telling the truth, the dark cover up of the Ministry mistake in the case of Potter murders.** _

_**Now dear readers we all have been denied things in life. If you haven't you're either an unrealistic (which says something considering magic) lucky or spoiled rotten. Now back to point, we all been denied something one time and another but have you ever been denied the ability to come forward with the truth that could save a person's life like Doris Purkiss has? Been denied a trail before thrown into Azkaban like Sirius Black, who is lesser known as Stubby Boardman the "retired" lead singer of The Hobgoblins, was? Yes, your eyes have not deceived you.** _

_**By testimony of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a wizard who "retired" (retired here means forced into retirement) from being a damn brilliant Auror who served during the first (first here means the one before the second, you see the truth is often ugly unlike the lies the Daily Prophet and our own government force down our throats, and the fact is the corpse of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Because-He's-Dramatic-Or-People-Are-Scaredy-Cats was never recovered which means He might be only mostly dead instead of dead-dead as we all been told-** _

  
"What the hell are you doing digging in my daughter's trash?" An angry, red faced but skinny man yelled. A freshly lit cigarette in between two fingers and no wand in either of his hands. The bloke probably came out to smoke and get a breather from his family.

In the reply Sirius smiled, showing of his yellow teeth. "I needed a bark of laughter."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think two main reason why Sirius never broke out before the third book was guilt because he was the one that convinced James & Lily to choose Peter as their secret keeper and because he thought Harry was safe.
> 
> The moment Harry wasn't safe, the moment that Sirius saw on that newspaper that Ron and his "pet rat" were going to Hogwarts he busted out (which is suppose to impossible but remember the Marauders did what Death could not when they were teenagers) to then nip that threat to Harry in the bud with killing Peter being the cherry on top.
> 
> Also dog jokes. Dog jokes are important.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter. An author note (so sorry).

Okay I really do hate when an author updates and it's an a/n: instead of a chapter I've been waiting for. I did the thing I hate. Why? 

Several people on tumblr sent me anon messages that had asked me if this fic was on hiatus. It's not guys. What happened was: 

1.) I gave Brotherhood a try and I shamelessly binge watched both Brotherhood and 003 (I've started on CoS but haven't finished it). 

2.) My brother hit my mother literally right before my family went on a vacation we've been trying for two years to take. My brother has been kicked out of the house and is living with our grandparents. This isn't the first time (He started being abusive to me last years ago and he got sent to live with our grandparents. He got to come back if he promised never to hit me again or touch my mother. He hit me a few times but he wasn't kicked out which... admittedly put me in a funk for a while. He hit my mother and my parents had enough.) so me taking over all the chores isn't as difficult as it was the first time but it admittedly has taken a good bit of my time. That and I'm still helping my grandfather build a new shower. 

3.) We went on vacation that quite honestly I think a reason why we stayed longer than intended was because my parents really needed a break. I needed a break too but I didn't really get one because I came down with strep throat before getting sick the last day of vacation/the evening we drove back. That sucked but I did scratch three things off my bucket list during vacation. 

Anyway, I have not given up on this story. It's just I've been busy and I can not convey how much family drama sucks. Sorry for this update being an author's note instead of a chapter.

Now I have a question that I've been debating on for the next chapter.

Would you rather me include a part of a conversation between Kreacher and Dobby then switch to Harry's pov or would you like me to simply make that (and some other ideas) into a side fic for extras for this fic? I honestly have been debating this for a while but couldn't decide which so that's why I'm asking you guys. 

Again I'm so sorry about the a/n: of an update but I did want to let you all know I haven't given up this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dealing with an author's note instead of a chapter I'll give you a summary for what I have plan for the next (hopefully long) chapter. 
> 
> One house elf, Harry Potter, and a horcrux sneak into the Chamber of Secrets. Sounds like a bad joke. Harry wished it had been.


	9. Part one of the Danse Macabre.

Harry stared at his stomach, heart pounding in his ears. That and the blood rushing was what made the scream almost barely heard. He was breathing in frigid air, Harry's stomach expanding where it he could actually see it in Dudley's old shirt. 

He was exhaling (he was drowning - he couldn't breathe). Harry's stomach no longer visible against the putrid orange of the shirt Aunt Petunia had bought. Yet despite all of this and seeing it Harry couldn't breath. Nails dug into the seat yet Harry couldn't anchor himself; the screaming was becoming louder in his ears that were pounding like his heart. 

Tears were filling his eyes. He didn't know if it was from frustration or this was what people did when they couldn't breath. The roaring was steadily growing and Harry couldn't fight it; he was defenseless. For the first time since having learnt what he was Harry was useless. He wouldn't have known how to act towards that realization if not for the coldness dragging him further. Or rather dragging itself further into him. No longer was he just incapable of air there was no way to get the water drowning Harry out of him. It was numbing his body and was in his lunges. If he was to attempt to get it out he'd only end up tearing himself apart, warm blood let loose into the cold air and his own torn flesh between his nails. 

There was pleading. It was muffled by the water but Harry could hear it. He could still hear the terribleness of the screams. He couldn't move though. Harry couldn't save her because he defenseless. Couldn't even breath much less move his arms. 

The boy who lived was what wizards had called him. And here he was: eyes dropping as he slid into the fog of unconscious, a part of him was (tired) realizing it didn't matter. That maybe it was for the better if he closed his eyes and stayed under the water. Froze (died) in peace. Except there she was still screaming for help, for mercy. Was she crying as she screamed?

Except there- 

Harry needed to- 

 

[\\]

 

There was silence between Dobby and Kreacher. It was unsettling. More so than the cruel words Kreacher muttered under his breath about Dobby and Dobby's friend. 

Harry was out of the dinning room after eating more than he usually was given. Good. Harry needed more food. And that's why Dobby had made it and why Dobby had stacked the wizard's plate so high. 

Dobby glanced at the walls, at the warm red and forever stylish polish wood paint. Dobby's lengthy fingers twitch with rebellion, with purpose. 

"Kreacher should be more kind," Dobby simply told Kreacher. The older house elf gave a disgruntled noise at Dobby's words. Dobby fought the urge to fiddle with Dobby's own clothes. It was the stubbornness that stopped Dobby for doing so just as the same stubbornness had ended up with Dobby getting to smell the burnt flesh of his fingers in the oven that, after the punishment, Dobby had to scrub. The very memory of the incident - of the smell and how Dobby's fingers had taken months to heal - still curdled Dobby. 

It seemed the older abusers got they didn't realize what they were doing was wrong. No, they only figured out different ways to break the unicorn's horn. 

Harry had got Dobby away from his owners- they weren't his family that he served, they were slavers and abusers - and gave Dobby a home despite the danger the later might have brought. (In Dobby's mind Dobby can easily recall the thunderous yell and purple in rage muggle that had yelled at Harry and Dobby before Dobby had teleported Harry and Dobby out.) 

Dobby had gotten Harry away from Harry's not-family, his abusers who almost treated Harry like most wizards would treat a house elf. The air cackled as Dobby's fingers ached. Dobby stared at the wall of the dining room. Dobby took a deep breath in before Dobby let that air out. It didn't help with dissipating the anger Dobby was feeling at the muggle family known as the Dursleys. 

"Does Dobby stare at the wall because he wishes to hang on it?" 

Annoyance flared while the anger Dobby had felt for the Dursleys over this summer and still now simmered deadly. 

Dobby smiled politely despite not feeling so; Dobby was good at lies, at a mask, Dobby had to have been otherwise Dobby would have eventually died in a mess of twitching limbs from the pain of knives that weren't actually digging into his flesh. 

"Dobby is going to be buried. Dobby doesn't want the pride of knowing Dobby will be on a wall once Dobby dies because that - being on the Black family's wall - is not something Dobby finds worthy of pride." 

Kreacher's thin lips twisted into an ugly expression. Horrid words of the old spilled out. It took more than a moment for Dobby to realize what language Kreacher was muttering cusses in; Dobby hadn't heard it since Dobby's mother was sold to another family. Bought and sold. Like items or food instead of people. House elves weren't wizards nor were they muggles but they felt. They bleed. They were born and eventually died just like everything else. Why were wizards better? Why did wizards get to own them? To buy a house elf and any future children they had. Get to tell a house elf to have sex so the family could have more? 

"That didn't make it right'; 'you mustn't have met some decent wizards then', Harry had told Dobby and now in Dobby's head the words repeated for Dobby. Reminded Dobby that there was one good wizard. 

Dobby looked away from the wall and down towards his feet. At the sight of his socks Dobby smiled. 

 

[/]

 

Something burned bright and painful. He couldn't die. If he died who else would stop Voldemort? 

 

[/]

 

"Kreacher doesn't like muggles does Kreacher? Kreacher's mistress was a Black after all." 

Kreacher stared at Dobby in distrust. Smart. Dobby had stolen every single letter Harry's friends had sent him over last year's summer to make Harry not want to return to Hogwarts. Dobby had taken them from Hedwig who herself was a clever creature and like Dobby cared deeply for Harry. It had not been an easy task. 

Dobby had tried to warn Harry not to go to Hogwarts and when that hadn't worked Dobby had dropped the prize pudding Mrs. Dursley had spent the day either baking or bragging on. Dobby had known full well what that dinner had meant for the Dursley family from the time he spyed on them. 

Dobby then proceeded to find a way to close the barrier between the muggle train station and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. When that hadn't worked Dobby had tampered with the bludger that could have greatly harmed Harry. Till this day Dobby didn't regret it. He'd rather have had Harry hurt than have him dead. 

Dobby could be ruthless. Dobby could hurt others to get what he wanted. Dobby wanted Harry safe. Dobby would be getting his way. 

"Mrs. Potter was not a whore and even if she was Harry Potter is still the only living member of the Potter family. He is still the son of the pure blood Mr. Potter." 

"Blood traitor Potter was and just like father Harry will be," Kreacher angrily retorted in that low voice of his. 

Dobby stared unimpressed. "Harry was hurt by muggles. He could have become an obscurus. Harry needs a safe haven and this is his by Mr.Black's will much to the frustration of Mr.Malfoy." 

"Dobby knows what is in Kreacher's cupboard when Kreacher snuck into the parlor room to find Harry's luggage last night."

Anger flashed on Kreacher's face. The air cackled deadly between them. 

"There are things no decent wizard would incur. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was very much so not a decent wizard. Dobby knew of something that gave the same aura that tainted the very air around it. Mr.Malfoy thought it only able to open the Chamber of Secrets but it did much more than that. Why does Kreacher have that thing in Kreacher's cupboard?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In CoS when Dobby was warning Harry he mentioned something about powers no decent wizards would use. Rather you think Dobby knew it was a horcrux (most people who had made a horcrux only split there soul once) or not (they really weren't known) it's the reason why this story was extended to more than two chapters like I originally intended. 
> 
> I at first had a hard time writing this chapter (my bosses are moving offices and I've been helping with the furniture and last week I was dealing with not one mouse or two mice in the house but eight - 8 damn mice and terrible nights of sleep because of eight mice) but because I couldn't quite make myself like how the chapter was wrote. I usually don't do switching povs because when I do they in the past have been terrible. So I rewrote the chapter in the writing style I've been writing 'I scream too loud when I speak my mind.' I'm okay with it now. 
> 
> Also, NikiSpade I'm so happy I was able to finally address slavery. I wasn't lying when I said I've been meaning to. 
> 
> Also friendly reminder Dobby, like Harry, is not, and never has been, a saint. Apparently that was the answer JK gave to the criticism she was given when she wrote Harry using the torture unforgivable. I may not agree with her with several things but I do agree with that answer. I also liked that Harry used them. So often you see a hero absolutely refuse to stoop as low as the villain that when a protagonist actually does so it makes them a bit more human instead of this perfect fictional character.
> 
> If I made any mistakes in this author note forgive me I'm under attack from a dog who wants attention.


	10. Part two of the Danse Macabre.

There was noise in the distance; feet hurriedly clambering about on carpet.

Too tired; bones too heavy to move. The  
empty seat, a bit of the ceiling, and part of the floor were the only thing in sight until movement (or rather crashing into the floor with a numbed, clumsy body).

Eyes tired; just let them close for a minute. Wake up and be warm. Maybe than the screams of mother won't ring in the head.

  
[\\]

**_Dear Sirius (I'm guessing) Black,_ **

**_I'm Harry, Harry Potter. My dad - I, um, - there was a picture I found today of you, my dad, and two other blokes._ **

**_I don't even know if you're alive but if you were (alive, obviously, not dead) could you tell me about him and mum?_ **

[\\]

  
The first attempt at writing Sirius a letter was crumbled and hidden under the bed with the others; they might be discarded drafts and there might be no trash can but Harry wasn't just going to leave them on the desk, in the open, because- well, because -

Harry liked Dobby but even then Harry still didn't want anyone (rather it be Sirius or Dobby) to read those crumbled up letters.

There was no rubbish bin in the dusty room Harry had slept in last night. Knowing wizards they probably had a spell for destroying paper instead of simply having a trash can. Unfortunately, Harry didn't know that spell and he already was in enough trouble as it was. With the photo, and than finding the letter Harry had forgotten about the situation he was in.

The feeling of dread was suffocating in this empty room. Harry leaned his head against the chair and tried to breath. Tried to calm his fear of going to wizard prison for using magic outside of Hogwarts and said magic being used to accidentally(but Harry doubted that would matter in the end) blow Aunt Marge up like a hot air balloon.

Suddenly, Harry wondered if she was okay; was Aunt Marge even alive? Harry wondered with a frown and his panic growing till it was practically gnawing at his empty stomach. Harry could swear that he had heard some older students, ones at the school he use to attend with Dudley, that you could only go so high up in the sky before you couldn't breath.

For the first time in months Harry felt the emotion of horror.

[\\]

  
There's a train rolling in, noise billowing as it does so. Even from his view Harry can tell it's a different train than the one Harry was on before he woke up.

Suddenly there was hair in his sight; blonde hair belonging to a woman. Harry had to squint as he looked up at her face; he had no glasses on here.

She looked familiar. Harry felt as though he should remember from where he had seen her, or rather why she looked like someone he should know.

She smiled kindly down on him with those sad eyes. There was a sort of vacant like kindness to her, like she wasn't all there, and it would make you sad. Like when you broke a cup you made in nursery for your mum, you broke it, and you were able to glue it back together but it still had cracks in it. (Except Harry had never known his mum much-less been able to give her a cup he made in school; when he'd been a kid Harry had made one for his aunt only for Aunt Petunia to throw it this trash that night while Dudley's cup was still on the fire place.)

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to Harry that he could talk; it involved opening mouth (Lip; no lips.), using his lips (Plural: lips. Because the mouth had two which is more than one and therefor plural.) , and moving his tongue.

"Uh, 'ello?" Harry voiced and it sounded more like a question than a greeting. "Do you know where we are?"

There was silence again in the station besides the noise of the waiting train. How long it stayed silent as Harry waited he didn't know. Eventually, he got up and looked about him.

Then, quite suddenly, there was noise. A sort-of pathetic sound, or rather sounds, that came about from whimpering and thumping helplessly about like a fish would when out of a body of water. Harry turned around to face the noise. The train station, Harry realized as it invented itself, was bigger than the Great Hall in Hogwarts which was accomplishment. The Great Hall before now had been the biggest room Harry had ever seen. Harry recoiled when his eyes came across the thing that was making those noises. It, because it wasn't a she or a he, had the form of a child. It was curled up into itself, skin bloody and raw, flayed-looking even, and it lay shuddering under a bench where it had been abandoned.

Something hurt- no, creeped into Harry's cold body and was strangling him. Fear; it was called fear. Harry felt fear at such a small and fragile thing. It was wounded too yet Harry couldn't help that he was afraid of it. Despite this Harry took steps forward towards the creature that was struggling to even breathe, to live. His steps, besides the noise of the train, were the only noise in vast space of the train station.

Suddenly there was weight on his shoulder. A hand on his arm for comfort or to stop him?

"You can't help him," the blonde woman finally spoke. There was such finality in her soft spoken words.

"You never could have saved him."

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_If you were friends with my dad why didn't you ever visit?_ **

**_Perhaps you did and the Dursleys ran you off because they thought keeping me from my lot would keep me from being a wizard? (Look how that worked out.)_ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_I fear I've killed my aunt. Aunt Marge is not actually my aunt. She's Uncle Vernon's sister. Uncle Vernon always made me call her Aunt Marg-_ **

  
[\\] 

 

**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_I'm writing this letter (and the previous probably twenty something discarded ones) to you because of a photo I saw today. It was of my dad, you, and two other teenagers. I was wondering if you tell me about my dad._ **

  
[\\]

 

**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_you're dead aren't you?_ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_this letter, like a lot of previous ones, won't ever be sent to you. I'm ranting and I know it._ **

**_Dobby told me I was abused today. How do you know if you're abused. I wish Hedwig was here so I could send letters to both Ron and Hermione asking if they knew what an obscurus was._ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_I'm not a reader. I'll read to Dobby so he can learn how to do so himself but when it comes to books my friend Hermione enjoys than more than I do._ **

**_Your family has a huge library. I've finished reading Dobby The Golden Compass. (Kreacher lurks outside the doorway whenever we have reading lessons). I'll probably start looking for a new book (that's width isn't too imposing) later today._ **

**_In other news, Hedwig still hasn't arrived from the Weasleys. I miss her. Yes, I have Dobby (and Kreacher) but she's my friend too even though she peaks at my fingers it really does hurt._ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_are you even alive? If you are-_ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_I died; it was cold and white. There was a train station._ **

  
[\\]

  
**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_It wasn't an actual death but something far worse. In other news, don't let a Dementor kiss you._ **

[\\]

 

**_Dear Sirius Black,_ **

**_you're alive._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Whistles innocently.* 
> 
> I finished part two; last chapter was meant to be longer but I said screw it since you guys waited so long and posted the first part. 
> 
> Funny story: In my notebook (one of several) there's a page with three lines. One line is for Harry, Dobby, and Kreacher. In Dobby's line there's several things planned for his plot for this fic jotted down. One of those things is: Don't die. Harry has "dies" on his. 
> 
> *Continues to whistle innocently as shit starts going down for this fic.*


	11. Chapter 11

Harry stared at the sight before him. They, Kreacher and Dobby, really had not been kidding about the whole, you know, decapitation and hanging on the wall. The house elves' faces were- 

Well they didn't smell. Before Harry had gone to Hogwarts - actually it'd had happened when Uncle Vernon had given Harry Dudley's spare room - Dudley, in an ugly fit of rage, had thrown his pet tortoise out of his bedroom window. (If Harry closed his eyes and tried he sure he could remember the sound of glass smashing.) 

The poor thing had died. Harry didn't know if it was the fall, from not having water in the heat, or starvation but it had died. Harry hadn't found it at first; he'd already weeded Aunt Petunia's flowerbeds in the back yard earlier that week and the Dursleys didn't have a dog despite Aunt Marge's attempts otherwise because Aunt Petunia didn't like how filthy pets could be. But eventually Harry had came across it. The smell that's what Harry always recalled first when it came to memory of the tortoise, Bob. Then the stiffness and third was the flies that had swarmed the corpse. 

When Harry had told his Aunt about Bob's death she had told him with thin lips from anger to get a trash bag, throw the thing in trashcan, and in a rare occurrence had cussed. 'You better damn well wash yourself with the water hose before you step back into the kitchen,' had been her words. 

Harry had not obeyed. It was easy - Dudley was having 'tea' with a member of his dumb, bullying group, Uncle Vernon was out of the house to have coffee with his boss about the drills the sold (a thrilling conversation Harry was positively sure), and Aunt Petunia was out with Dudley too. (She had been friends with Piers' mother ever since the other woman had dropped her son off for Dudley's birthday party to the zoo.) 

It hadn't been much in the end but Harry thought that - well Harry supposed a grave with nothing above it was better than a corpse just left in the trash. 

(If he ever died he wanted more than the Dursleys to put him in a white kitchen trash bag, throwing him into the trash bins outside, and telling the neighbors what they had told Harry: [they] he was the bad sort, died in car crash - oh, he wasn't old enough to drive, Harry had stolen the car to get away from Saint Brutus' school.)

There was a stubborn jut of his thin jaw as Harry looked around him, his eyes squinted because he had forgotten to ask Dobby where the house elf had put his glasses. His eyes eventually fell on the suitcase and Hedwig's empty bird cage that he'd been taking to Sirius' room after eating. Of course Harry couldn't climb on the bird cage so Harry went and brought the forgotten suit case forward. Harry then pushed it down so he could climb on top of it. 

It made him taller enough to be able to reach where the house elves heads were mounted on a piece of wood on the wall. No matter how hard and long Harry tried to yank at it to get it off Harry could do not get it off the wall. It like the photo of his father and his friends in Sirius' room: charmed to wall most likely. Harry let out a frustrated breathe as he closed his eyes to the sight (or rather the head) inches before him. 

If Harry was allowed magic out of Hogwarts perhaps Harry would be able to do something with the heads and be able to get the photo of his father, but Harry had already used magic, and was in trouble for it. 

Harry would never be able to go back to Hogwarts; his wand would be snapped by Ministers officials once they found him at the Black's house. Harry opened his green eyes, staring at the head mere inches from him. He already been expelled or would have if Harry had stupidly stuck around at the Dursleys' house for the letter. What could a single spell- honestly it wasn't like Harry wouldn't have used magic and his broom to get away to from his relatives if Dobby hadn't already gotten them out of there. 

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by the soft footsteps of a house elf behind him. He turned his head to see an uncharacteristically grim Dobby. Immediately Harry was on edge. Dobby was never grim not even about how he'd been treated as a slave by the Malfoys. 

"Could Harry come back to the dining-room?" Dobby asked him.

"Yeah, of course," and with those words Harry jumped off the suit case and followed his friend. Harry only looked back to promise himself he wouldn't forget. 

Kreacher was in the dining-room when they got there. While he wasn't grim looking like Dobby Kreacher wasn't exactly what Harry would call happy either. If Harry wasn't already on edge he would have been at the sight that greeted him when he looked at the table. 

"You kept that?" Harry asked incredulously. 

Dobby stared at him like he was idiot; it was then Harry decided to never allow Dobby and Hermione to meet. Voldemort wouldn't need to kill him if both of his friends looked at him like that at the same time. Except it wasn't just a you're being stupid look, Harry realized. There was hurt on Dobby's face too and immediately the humor was wiped from Harry. 

"Dobby told Harry there were," Dobby paused to fiddle with his pillow sheet before he continued. "powers Dumbledore doesn’t... powers no decent wizard-" 

Harry has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something about there not being any decent wizards if they know about what Dobby went through - he suddenly thinks of Mrs.Weasley and Mr.Weasley who had been kind to him last year even though he wasn't their son and why can't things be simple? 

Kreacher sends Dobby an annoyed look before looking at the diary with a wary expression. "Horcrux," the older house elf named whatever was going on. 

If last year hadn't happened - if Ginny and Tom in the Chamber of Secrets hadn't happened - Harry would have been confused. 

"What does Voldemort have to do with this?" Immediately Harry asked because this was in fact serious. His eyes were no longer on any of the elves but the stabbed diary on the table. 

"Master Regulus thought there was only one," Kreacher informed them and there was nothing bitter or angry when he referred to Regulus. 

Harry looked up from the diary and narrowed his eyes at Kreacher. "You mentioned him before." 

"Kreacher didn't want tell then, but you asked what Kreacher was doing," Kreacher told Harry and a bad feeling - one that didn't have to do with Voldemort- was building in Harry. 

"Kreacher why do you have to tell me something you don't want to?" Harry asked despite him wanting to know (it's a good thing Harry wasn't born a cat because he was too curious for his own good) a part of him knew he wasn't going to like the answer he suspected he'd be given. 

It was now Kreacher's turn to look at Harry as though he was an idiot. "Kreacher is yours - the Black family house and money is yours. Kreacher wanted Narcissa but Sirius made a will," was Kreacher curt explanation. 

Will. wILl. WILL. will. The word kept repeating over a momentarily numb Harry. Dead was the word that came after. Sirius - the link to his dead parents - was dead too. 

(They were all dead.) 

"I don't-" Harry began only to realize words were perhaps a bit too hard in this moment where he'd just been blindsided by the news given to him. 

It was the diary - Tom, Voldemort- that made Harry push aside the loss of a person who not only knew his parents but had been friends with them. 

(Dead. Huh, that explained why he never saved Harry from the Dursleys like Harry use to dream of.) 

Sirius, like his parents, was probably dead because of Voldemort. 

"What was the horcrux Regulus thought there was only one of?" Harry asked. Harry had never truly known loss, but this - Voldemort - he knew. He had to know otherwise he'd have been dead too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby. ;) 
> 
> Anyway (keep in mind I learned this stuff from the internet) if you're arrested you still own your property, you still have to pay your bills (taxes, car payment, any loans, electricity) even though you are in prison. Since you're in prison it's left to your family to handle your property and money. Many of times this has ended bad for the people in prison. 
> 
> In this fic, Sirius expected to die so he wrote a will and testament early in his life because of the war. James (therefore Harry since his parents were murdered) would have inherited everything of Sirius' much to Lucius' frustration (Lucius would inherit anything Narcissa owned through their marriage). Since Sirius had a life sentence to prison despite never getting a trail (that's very illegal and horrifying) would be considered good as dead.
> 
> And, yes, Dudley did own a pet tortoise which at losing his toy room to Harry Dudley threw out of the window. The name of it is never mentioned and it was the greenhouse's window Dudley threw it out of in the book instead of his bedroom window in this fic.


	12. Chapter 12

"That was so slow," Fred voiced into the night. "How do muggles do it?" 

Hermione sharply elbowed Fred instead of explaining muggle traffic versus driving a magical car through the air where there was no such traffic besides that of helicopters and planes. 

"Shh," Hermione hushed him as Ron, the last of them, got out of her dad's car. Thankfully Ron had the common sense to close the door as softly as he could. While Harry's relatives were out of the house (they were under the assumption that they were finalist in the "All-England Best-Kept Lawn" competition) that didn't mean there wasn't neighbors who could call the police on them. 

George stooped down to Hermione's height and with a wink whispered in her ear, "But our voices are almost as beautiful as our faces." 

"Well Phryne it's a good thing this isn't Rome now hurry up and pick the lock," was Hermione's softly snarked retort. She wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for Harry. Despite that Hermione felt nervous - perhaps more nervous than that time last year they'd stolen from Snape's cupboard of potion ingredients to make the polyjuice. Why? Because getting into trouble at Hogwarts was one thing (or actually several things and a few more things they'd never been caught for) but this was the muggle world they were in. This could go on her permanent record and muggles weren't like wizards. They were smart and that was without being an actually police detective. Breifly Hermione couldn't help but wonder if any of the Weasley children she was going to break into a house with had birth certificates in the real world. 

George extended himself to his full height only to bow at her before joining his brother in picking the lock. 

Warm breath landed on her ear as Ron, who finished stretching from hours in the car, leaned towards her. "Who's Phryne?" 

Without missing a beat Hermione answered Ron's question. "A prostitute who was put on trail for impiety and won her life because beauty was thing considered to be bestowed by the gods or rather in that case Venus." 

Hermione didn't need to see Ron (currently all she could see was his outline) to know her friend's cheeks were the shade of his hair. Or perhaps even brighter than that and Hermione hadn't even mentioned the fact one story had the priestess of Venus disrobing before the judges. That and there were two painting of that version of the story. 

One of the twins waved at them. Hurridly Hermione and Ron met up with them at the steps. The welcome mat greeted them as the walked through the front door. 

It was Hermione who turned on the lights as one of the twins quickly closed the door behind them. 

"So your father said the ministry officers had taken the memories of the Dursleys?" Hermione asked despite remembering that Ron had told her so. It was a bit horrifying to think on. Their government using magic on memories of muggles who couldn't defend themselves even though it was for Harry - it hit too close to what Lockhart (their former professor) had tried to pull on Ron and Harry after he was the one to freely confess to them about his fraud. 

"Yeah," was Ron's reply. Hermione started walking towards the kitchen - the place where this whole thing started. Apparently Harry had blown up his uncle's sister before his kidnapping. While Harry had a temper what on earth had made him bl- 

"It was a house elf working with Black was what dad said but he technically shouldn't have known that. It's only because he's friends with a bloke." There was a pause as Ron thought rather hard to remember the name. 

"Shacklebolt his name." Fred told them. 

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she paused several inches from the doorway. Not at the name or even the new information given to her, but at the markings on the at the cupboard. The paint by the cupboard was unlike the rest of the walls. The white paint was burnt. Blackened around the cupboard and sooty to the touch. Hermione, with her eyebrows furrowed together far more tight than before, unlocked the door bolt before unlocking the door chain with a sense of unease she didn't like at all. 

(Why do you need not just a lock but two locks on a simple cupboard?) 

Hermione reached out a hand and grabbed the chain to turn on the light for the cupboard. The first thing Hermione noticed was the mattress despite how small it was. Maybe it was because the mattress was about a toddler sized was the reason Hermione noticed it. Or maybe it Hermione noticed it first out of everything (the soldiers and the bugs) because there shouldn't be a mattress in a cupboard to begin with no matter the size. 

Hermione felt as though she'd been hit with a spell as she simply stared at the sight before her (the ugly realization about her friend shoved in front of her).

"Hermione why a you looking at a tiny room?" 

Despite everything Hermione found it in herself to warn Ron. "There's some spiders and a beetle in here but you need to see this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In PoA the Ministry was in a panic with Harry's disappearance while Sirius had yet to be found. So much so that when Harry was found by Fudge his magic outside of school in front of muggles was forgiven because of the circumstances. Harry, despite the warning he received last year from Dobby's magic, was okay to go back to Hogwarts since the school was considered the safest place in England and Fudge back then trusted Dumbledore. 
> 
> Unlike in PoA Fudge didn't find Harry at the wizarding hotel so the Ministry is in more of a panic than in canon and Dumbledore has Order members working together to find Harry.


	13. Chapter 13

The metal chain of the locket was a cold thing. Harry stared down at it as soon as Kreacher had somewhat begrudgingly handed it to Harry. It was handsome, Harry supposed; expensive most certainly when with those green stones that made a serpentine S on the locket's pendant. The thing in Harry's hand was a horcrux which apparently held another piece of Voldemort's soul. Obscurus now horcruxes. In less than twenty four hours Harry was learning all sorts of things a part of him honestly wanted not to know, but the majority of Harry knew he needed to know; Harry had first hand seen what a piece of Voldemort's soul could do when - what? Trapped in an object? 

But was it truly trapped? Harry wondered as his thumb brushed against the initial engraved through glittering stones on the locket. Was it put there purposely was the question. No, that was wrong. The question was why if Voldemort had choose to do so. 

Why would Voldemort somehow put his soul in another thing? 

To put a part of his soul in an object...Harry had witnessed that the soul, or rather shard of a soul, in Tom's diary was alive - not only alive but capable of controlling a person. It (the diary and now the locket) had to have been alive when Voldemort had died the night that had left Harry an orphan (alone, like him). 

Expect it hasn't been just had, Harry thought; said thoughts were rushed because Harry had a dreadful idea of where this was going. Voldemort had never truly died that Halloween night. Voldemort had lost his body but he had been alive. Like a ghost or specter from those horror movies Dudley liked to secretly (Aunt Petunia would never allow her Duddykins to watch such things if she had known about it) watch when his parents were out of the house this summer. Harry's grip on the locket (Why this locket? What made it so special? The last horcrux had been his diary from Hogwarts.) tightened. The cold metal chain dug painfully into Harry's palm but it only helped to anchor Harry's thoughts. 

Didn't you need to destroy the object (a lock of hair, a doll, jewelry, a box - Harry was sure the box from that movie his cousin had watched was called the dybuk or dybbuk) to stop the ghost from continuously being allowed to anchor itself to this realm of existence? Or, you know, to put it in simpler way of thinking it: this life. 

So what, Harry wondered, Voldemort was a ghost? If he destroyed the locket would Voldemort finally stay dead for good? If Harry blew salt (Was there a salt summoning spell? He'd have to ask Hermione once Hedwig came back.) at Voldemort would it hurt him? 

The locket was becoming warm; the heat from Harry's hand, his fingers having the chain wrapped around them and the pedant in his palm, must have seeped into the object. 

Harry's green eyes squinted down at the locket after noticing that; quickly, with a not-so irrational feeling of fear, Harry untangled the chain from his fingers before putting it next to the diary on the dinning table. The metal made a clink noise as it was set on the dark piece of furniture. Harry thought of Ginny - cold, almost lifeless Ginny whose robes had been soaked from the water in the Chamber of Secrets. He recalled how Tom had been helpful, informative, and like Harry until he hadn't been (he's never going to drop his wand again). 

Harry stared at the empty palm of his hand and remembered the pain he went through just to kill Tom - I am Lord Voldemort the teenager had spelled in the air with Harry's wand - actually it hadn't just been pain Harry had gone through that night. Harry had almost died. Actually Harry (and therefore Ron and Hermione) almost died a lot during their two years at Hogwarts now that he was thinking about it. 

Harry brought both hands, only one was scarred from a puncture wound, to his face; he'd slept late (far latter than what the Dursleys would ever have allowed) and yet Harry was simply tired. 

(There's over twenty letters discarded so Harry could finally be able to put to words his thoughts on Sirius Black, a person who knew his father, and now not even that one letter will reach the man because he's dead; they're all dead and Harry is alone like he's always been because this? This cannot last. Harry blew up his aunt - possibly murdered, he had realized earlier today - and the government was going to snap his wand like they had Hagrid's. If not worse, Harry thought.) 

Eventually Harry opened his eyes and took his hands off his face. He doesn't know how to handle the loss of Sirius (or rather the idea of the man) because his parents have always been dead no matter the cause whether it be car crash or murdered by a Dark Lord. But Harry did know how to handle Voldemort (he had to otherwise he and his friends would be dead). Harry had been doing that for the last two years, but he's got to do this before they come and snap his wand. 

(Would Hagrid take him and Dobby in after everything was done and over with? Because there's no way Harry is going back to the Dursleys. Maybe - maybe - this time Harry can just stay at Hogwarts because he'll be learning to be a... whatever was Hagrid's job. Harry honestly couldn't remember the name of it.) 

"Dobby could you teleport me to Hogwarts? You know to the place I told you about this summer?" Harry asked, his eyes still directed at the table though. 

Kreacher violently shook his wrinkled, bald head. "Take Kreacher," he muttered to Harry as he did so. 

There was a quick pause that for some reason left a bad feeling in Harry's gut. 

"Take Kreacher," Kreacher repeated, "to help destroy the locket. Kreacher promised to destroy it. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher has been failing his orders!" 

Harry blinked before squinting his eyes (he really needed to ask about where Dobby put his glasses) at the house elf. Orders? 

"Who is Regulus? Where's the Black family - this is their house isn't it?" 

Kreacher instantly stopped shaking his head. His face was blank, but his eyes were...well they kinda looked sad to Harry. It shouldn't shocked him as much as it did; yes, Kreacher wasn't nice (Harry still didn't know what a whore was but he knew it was a bad word from Dobby's reaction to it. Probably something like mudblood.), but just because someone was a jerk didn't mean they didn't feel. If gits didn't feel any emotions besides hate and jealousy then that would make it easier for Harry now wouldn't it? 

(If he closed his eyes, Harry thinks he can just picture his younger self - scrawnier and, sadly, not that much shorter than himself now - peeking out of his cupboard from the bottom of the door that kept him in the cupboard so he could see the warm glow of the kitchen where there's laughter, birthday cake, and most importantly Dudley's parents who love him. There's a sense of longing in that memory even if Harry no longer wanted the Dursleys to love him. Honestly Harry doesn't want anything to do with his relatives at all. He hadn't for a few years now.)

"They're gone now, sir." Kreacher finally informed. Being spoken to was what got Harry back to the present and out of his mind. 

They were all dead, was what Harry had thought only just a few minutes ago. It seemed he wasn't the only one alone...except Kreacher was a house elf - a slave. Shouldn't Kreacher hate them though? 

Except, Harry realized, Dobby never hated the Malfoys, he had only really disliked them even after spending a summer with Harry. That and despite their treatment of him (abuse Dobby had told him just hours ago) Harry never hated the Dursleys. Mocked them? Yes, absolutely, but never hated. Harry just wanted nothing to do with them (and no one had cared despite his attempts to stay at Hogwarts). And there had been a time (glasses press into the wood of the door, the floor of the cupboard is cold against his cheek but Harry wants to see the kitchen - wants to see Dudley's birthday party because Harry hasn't ever had one before) when Harry had wanted to be loved by the Dursleys like Dudley abundantly was? 

Yes, there had been. It just felt to Harry like a life time ago. 

Finally Harry spoke up. "Of course you can come. I gotta put up something then we can go." 

When Harry arrives back to Sirius' room he closes the door behind him and just stared at the dusty room. And breathed. Yes, breathing was important after all. Eventually (he doesn't know how much time has passed) Harry no longer leaned on the door that kept him from sliding to the floor. 

Harry walked over to desk where he'd shoved that one letter under a motorcycle manual. Carefully Harry took out his mother's letter, his eyes scanned it one last time before he went off. You're coming back, Harry had to tell his stupid self. You're not leaving for good yet. It's just stupid to carry it - the only letter written by his mum. (Harry could still remember the state his robes had been in after leaving the Chamber of Secrets.) Before Harry folds it to shove it under the motorcycle manual with a letter that will never be delivered Harry's eyes landed on a name: Bathilda. Just Bathilda. His mum doesn't mention a last name yet for some reason it stuck out in his mind like Harry should know it somewhere. But Harry can't recall so he put the letter away and left the empty room, in a empty house. 

It won't be the last time, Harry thought as he made his way down stairs, the last step creeking at what weight Harry had. 

Dobby and Kreacher were silent as he walked into the dining room. Without a word Harry slipped on the warm locket and it's only then that he spoke. "You two ready?" He asked that instead of what he wanted because, through Hermione and Ron, Harry had learnt trying to exclude his friends from danger never really worked; not that him and Kreacher friends. 

Kreacher's long fingers wrapped into Dobby's and Dobby's other hand is raised up so Harry can grab it. There's a crack and the red paint of the dining room blurs into darkness until he can see the bleakness of the chamber; his ear drums all the while are being shoved deeper into his skull - not just his ears. Harry was being shoved and pressed into every direction and further into his self and he couldn't breathe. Despite having gone through this once there's an urge an overwhelming panic in him. Maybe it was because Harry felt as though iron bands were crushing his ribs or the feeling of being chocked (he couldn't breathe - he couldn't breathe and something in Harry is screaming at him as his eyes were being forced back into his head.

He's gasping. 

Oh. 

Harry was just now noticing and realizing what that meant as nausea slammed into him just as the stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets slammed into his knees, the feeezing water soaking his over sized jeans. But none of that matters because chain of the locket is strangling him; desperately Harry tried to claw it off his throat, his short nails dug painfully into his throat along with the burning metal, but the pain doesn't matter. 

Pain is momentary; pain means Harry is still alive, that Harry can go back to the Black's house for just a little bit longer, so Harry fights both tooth and nail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody knows where my sanity and energy are at let me know. I do so miss them.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer.tumblr.com), feel free to send a question or just chat with me about Harry Potter.


End file.
